THIRTY-TWO
John Gallagher had returned to Hawk’s Nest on Sunday night so he could make the meeting the next morning at 10:30. Some of the members would be joining in by conference call. Others, like him, had decided to make the trip to the Jordans’ Rocky Mountain retreat.
That night, by phone, Joshua had directed Gallagher and the others to make themselves at home in the guest wing; while he had urgent business overseas, Abigail would act as the group’s temporary chair. Of course, no one objected. Joshua also gave Gallagher a briefing of what the “Patriot” would reveal to the Roundtable the next day.
Each of the guestrooms at Hawks’ Nest had a name. Gallagher laughed when he saw the plaque over the door of his room: The Roy Rogers Room.
He smiled. “This is great.” The retired FBI agent had always been accused by his stiff-necked, rule-book supervisor of “playing cowboy” in his pursuit of bad guys. So for John Gallagher this was the perfect room.
Hungry, he wandered down the spiral staircase at the west end of the lodge, past a row of antelope antlers over doorways. He caught a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror, his belly hanging slightly over his belt. Boy, I’ve got to get to the gym.
He recalled that the Jordans had a full-size Nautilus workout room, including a treadmill and a stair climber. Maybe I’ll work out a little … man-up with a good sweat. Then the next thought. But only after I feed my face.
He sauntered into the restaurant-sized kitchen. Carletta, the Jordans’ chef, had been working on the food for the Roundtable meeting the next day. She was cleaning up.
“Señor Gallagher, can I fix something for you?”
“I don’t suppose you have any chili dogs?”
She shook her head.
“Just a sandwich would be fine. Just point me in the right direction. I’ll fix it.”
A moment later Cal walked into the kitchen and greeted him as “Agent Gallagher.”
“Come on, Cal, you know I’ve retired from the Bureau. I’m just plain John now.” Cal gave a hearty nod. “After all,” said Gallagher, “you and I were partners in battling evil last year, fighting for truth, justice, and the American way. Right?”
Cal grinned at Gallagher’s loose, good-buddy approach.
As Gallagher threw a club sandwich together, he got serious. “You know, you were the one in the closet with duct tape over your mouth and a bomb around your neck. And where was I? In a surveillance truck on the street eating donuts. Who had the tougher job that day?”
“Yeah, well, you saved my life.”
“Naw. Your dad did that. I was strictly an FBI bystander, trying hard not to screw things up.”
“You’re still one of my heroes.”
Gallagher gave a half smile and felt a little embarrassed. As he crunched on a dill pickle, a jolting thought occurred to him.
Cal noticed the change in Gallagher’s face and gambled that he and the former special agent were thinking the same thing. “You ever get any news on Atta Zimler after he slipped away from Grand Central Station?”
Gallagher chewed slowly and swallowed. “Listen, kid, now that I’m sort of officially part of your family, if that scumbag ever comes within a hundred miles of you, I’ll take care of business.” Gallagher wondered aloud about an unrelated thought. “Shouldn’t you be at college?”
“Got a few days off. No classes for a while.”
“So then why aren’t you going off on a date with some pretty coed?”
“I wanted to be here. I’m interested in this Roundtable stuff. Would love to be involved.”
Gallagher sat down and hunched over the table, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. With a full mouth he managed to say, “Youth … man, it’s wasted on the young. So what’s your interest in the Roundtable?”
“I just want to be part of what my dad and mom are doing.”
John Gallagher sat up a little straighter. “Boy, to have my son say that … that’d be great.”
“You have a son?”
“Yup. I’m not sure where he is right now. Maybe with his mom.”
“So …,” but Cal didn’t finish the thought.
“That’s okay. You can ask. Yes. I’m divorced. My wife says I was a jerk to live with. One of the few things she ever said that was absolutely accurate. The divorce was finalized years ago. Water under the bridge.” Then he added. “Though now that I think of it, my wife got the bridge in the divorce settlement too.”
Cal tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it.
“A good laugh is a healthy thing now and then.”
Cal smiled.
Gallagher added, “Especially for you guys. Man, you have one intense family.”
“Copy that.” Now Gallagher was laughing.
“So you want to be involved in the Roundtable, huh?”
“Yeah. Anything, really. Doesn’t have to be big.”
“What’s your expertise? Everybody in the group’s got a specialty.”
“Well, I’ve changed majors to poli-sci. Up to now I’ve got straight A’s in all my classes, dean’s list.”
“Gee, with two genius parents, I’m shocked. I guess you could do research.”
“Sure. Certainly.”
Gallagher paused and looked Cal in the eye. “And your dad is okay with this?”
Cal was caught. He knew his father didn’t want him involved, but on the other hand, just doing some research, that wasn’t really being involved, was it?
“I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”
“Okay. So here’s a hypothetical. Let’s see what you come up with. Pretend that one day the Russians sit down and decide to bring some small nuclear weapons into the United States …”
Cal blurted out, “You’re kidding! That’s what you guys are dealing with?”
“Whoa, hold your horses. I said this was a story, a hypothetical. Got it? Not real life, just a mental exercise. A pop quiz.”
Cal nodded.
“So go along with the assumption. Now do some research on that. Ask yourself, where would they bring portable nukes, what would their targets be? Show me what you can do.”
“Where do I start?”
Gallagher grinned. “You figure it out. You’re the straight-A student, aren’t you?”
The former special agent settled back in to his sandwich. He figured that he’d placated Joshua’s son sufficiently. He liked Cal, but he also knew that Josh probably wanted to keep him out of too much of the sensitive stuff. The assignment he had just given him — the hypothetical — should do the trick. By his estimate it would keep the kid busy for the next year.